


Heart Stop Drop

by aohatsu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25237030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/pseuds/aohatsu
Summary: The day that Peter asks Tony to marry him starts out when a fire-breathing dragon attacks China Town.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 101
Collections: Just Married Exchange 2020





	Heart Stop Drop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intoxicatelou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/gifts).



The day that Peter asks Tony to marry him starts out when a fire-breathing dragon attacks China Town. It takes three hours, massive property damage, two first-degree burns, one nasty bite—dragon saliva is apparently acidic, who knew—and Thor showing up to help at the last minute for them to finally knock it out. Apparently, it’s a long-lived immortal dragon from a planet very, very far away. Peter would ordinarily be way more interested in learning all about it, except that dinner reservations are at seven, and Peter has to get dressed and pick up the ring from Aunt May’s apartment where he’s been hiding it for the past four months.

He has Karen remind F.R.I.D.A.Y. to remind Tony about the time while he’s swinging through Queens. When he climbs through the living room window, Aunt May frowns at him. She sighs and points to the bathroom as soon as he takes his mask off. “Go take a shower, you smell and look like you went swimming in the Hudson.”

Peter had, in fact, been hit by the dragon’s tail so hard that he’d been knocked into a really, really gross body of water, but it hadn’t been the Hudson. Tony had dived in after to grab him—he has a thing for saving Peter whenever possible, and admittedly, the possibility of drowning is probably one Peter’s biggest weaknesses when he’s not wearing the Iron Spider suit. He hadn’t complained about the smell at the time so much as Peter getting himself into trouble (as if Peter had any choice when dragons were attacking China Town). Still, Peter gives his armpit a delicate sniff on the way to the bathroom and acknowledges that his aunt is right: he needs a shower. Not that he hadn’t already been planning to take one.

The hot water helps calm his nerves a little, if just temporarily. He shampoos his hair twice and adds too much conditioner. He shaves the five o’clock shadow off his chin carefully, and applies the cologne that Rhodey had given him for his birthday half-a-year ago. Tony has mentioned liking it, has proven it by pressing his face to Peter’s throat and sucking dark marks into his skin, as short-lasting as marks like those tend to be, all the while complaining that Peter makes it hard to concentrate when he comes to the lab smelling so fucking _good_.

Peter stops thinking about it. It’s so not the time.

He brushes his hair until it’s not so damp that it’ll make the neckline of his shirt wet when he puts it on and finally leaves the bathroom.

Aunt May nods when he comes out, and says, “Looking good. Time’s ticking though. Go put on your suit.”

The Tom Ford three-piece suit Tony had bought for him on their last trip abroad to Dubai (for so much money Peter nearly hyperventilated in the store and he can’t think about it or he won’t be able to actually _put it on_ ) is well-tailored, slim at the waist. Aunt May says the black suit with the blue vest makes him look like a James Bond want-to-be. Hopefully, Peter doesn’t end the night with a ripped and bullet-ruined Tom Ford suit.

He almost doesn’t want to sit down and somehow ruin it once he’s put it on.

Aunt May gives him a gentle hug and says, “Good luck. Tony has no idea how lucky he is, you know.”

Peter fiddles with the ring in his pocket and smiles shyly at her. Then, he heads downstairs to jump into the Audi R8 GT that he’d taken the night before from Tony’s garage. He can’t ride the subway or take a taxi in a Tom Ford suit that cost more than his college education, or drive up to Eleven Madison Park in his aunt’s old Honda. Tony Stark’s boyfriend or not, he isn’t sure they’d let him through the door and he’d had to jump through some serious hoops to get the reservation there.

Sure, Tony could probably have done it with ten minutes notice, but this—tonight—is Peter’s plan.

If he’s proposing to Tony Stark, everything has to be perfect. _Special_. More than just pizza and Netflix in their pajamas after a day getting covered in oil and grease in the lab or fighting a dragon with acidic slobber. Tony has to see Peter as an adult capable of taking him out on expensive outings without Tony’s money. Well, okay, Tony paid for Peter’s suit, and Peter’s car, and Tony’s name definitely got him on the reservation list, but—but Peter has been saving up for this.

He bought the material for the ring and soldered it himself, and that was a two-month long process that drove him to tears twice, and only once because Tony kept walking in on him while he was working. Peter had generally been able to distract him by pushing him down and kissing him, but there had been a couple too many close calls for comfort, that’s for sure.

By the time Peter makes it through traffic, he’s five minutes late when he’d planned on being at least twenty minutes early.

He loved New York, but sometimes New York really didn’t love him back.

Tony isn’t waiting outside for him and so Peter fumbles with his phone to call him.

There’s a suspicious metal grinding noise when Tony answers, and the distracted, “Uh, hey, Peter, I’ll be down in a—Dum-E, don’t you dare touch that—I’ll be down in a minute!” doesn’t inspire all that much confidence. Peter grins anyway; his advanced hearing means he can hear Dum-E’s little chirp in the background, and Tony’s hushed _fuck, fuck, fuck_ before the call gets cut off.

Five minutes later, Tony slides into the car with tussled but damp hair, a t-shirt on underneath a leather jacket, and jeans that probably cost nearly as much as Peter’s Tom Ford, but very definitely still jeans. His shoes looked vaguely like something Peter thought might be fancy, but he wasn’t sure.

Tony looks at him, says, “Sorry, the rendering on the—holy shit.” He’s looking at Peter, eyes wide. “Fuck, I’m under-dressed.”

Peter laughs under his breath, grinning up at Tony and, uncaring suddenly about his suit, leans over to aim for a kiss. Tony leans forward too, sliding a hand around the nape of his neck, fingers clutching at his curls as their mouths meet. His mouth is soft and wet and sends shivers through Peter’s entire body. When they part, Tony hums a satisfied, “Mm,” and then, “Happy anniversary. Three years. I can’t believe you’ve stayed with me this long.”

Peter keeps grinning and leans back into his seat to start driving before they end up being so late that their reservation is cancelled, _Tony Stark_ or not.

“I can’t believe _you_ still want _me_ ,” Peter says, and it’s true. He’s nothing special, not really, not compared to someone like Tony, especially with how much trouble he’s caused Tony, both as Spider-Man and when the media found out Tony Stark, forty-nine, was dating Peter Parker, nineteen, two years ago after catching them kissing while on holiday in LA.

(In Peter’s defense, Tony had just introduced him to _Harrison Ford_. How was he _not_ supposed to kiss Tony after that? Although maybe the bigger issue had been Tony’s hands on Peter’s ass and Peter’s mouth dangerously close to Tony’s unbuttoned jeans, his shirt pushed up to reveal smooth, tanned skin—yeah. The media had plenty of damning evidence that they were sleeping together. It hadn’t been pretty for a while.)

Tony smiles softly and says, “I’ll always want you, Pete, come on.”

They make good time and somehow arrive at Eleven Madison Park right on time.

Nobody stops Tony from going in in his jeans, and the valet takes Peter’s keys to drive the car to a different spot as they’re guided into the restaurant. Tony puts a warm hand on the lower center of Peter’s back and then, with too much exuberance, pulls Peter’s chair out for him. Peter laughs and sits down, and Tony takes charge with ordering the champagne.

Peter’s twenty-one now—and famous enough, apparently, that the waiter doesn’t even ask for his I.D. before bringing it out.

“This is a fancy place,” Tony says, once the champagne has been poured and the waiter has left them to wait for the first course to arrive. “I honestly assumed we’d be eating in a bodega or I would have dressed up.”

Peter smiles nervously and takes a gulp of his champagne. The ring feels heavy in his pocket all the sudden.

Tony grins slyly, “As good as you look in that suit, Peter, I know you’ll look even nicer when it’s on the floor.”

Peter laughs, cheeks flushing. “This suit is not going on the floor. This suit is going on a hanger.”

“Mmhm,” Tony hums. “Pretty sure I’ll be tearing that suit off you later and there won’t be much point in a hanger.”

“Oh my God,” Peter coughs, because the waiter has come back with plates in his hands that he sets gently down on the table in front of them.

Peter has no idea what the food is—squares of pink and green… food, with white drizzle mostly decorating the plate.

Right, well, tonight isn’t about getting full anyway.

It’s about a ring.

And a question.

And a guy.

He takes a bite and, though Tony says it tastes nice, Peter would swear it doesn’t taste like anything.

By the third plate, Peter is so nervous he’s tapping his foot against the ground incessantly. He drops his fork twice. He excuses himself to the bathroom to make sure he hasn’t accidentally gotten goop in his hair or ink on his face. He’s too nervous to pee.

For half of a terrifying minute, he’s convinced he lost the ring.

Halfway through the dinner, while Tony is talking about a new protocol he’s programming for F.R.I.D.A.Y. because she’s getting too sassy in his old age, Peter clenches his fists and clears his throat. He’s nervous, but it’s a good sort of nervous. He’s ready. He’s so ready.

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?”

All the noise in the room seems to go silent—except for the pounding of his own heart, and the gentle, soft near-humming of Tony’s artificial one. Tony leans back and laughs, loud enough that the next table over glances across to them. He’s smiling, the laughter causing his eyes to shine.

Peter’s heart is already falling into the pit of his stomach when Tony says, still smiling, “Kid, you’re hilarious,” and stuffs a fancy roll in his mouth.

_Idiot._

Peter tries not to let his expression falter. He tries not to squeeze the ring in his pocket so hard that the box cracks.

_Idiotidiotidiot._

He tries.

Everything stutters to a stop in his mind.

_He’s such an idiot._

He thinks he’s lucky he doesn’t burst into tears.

“Right,” he says, voice shaking. Everything shaking. “Haha,” he adds, as if that’s going to convince anyone of anything.

It’s like cold water hitting you in the face and sinking into your skin. His entire body feels heavy, his face hot, his throat closed up.

Right.

Haha.

Hilarious.

He’s barely hanging on to his composure.

He needs to get out of there.

He needs to go.

He can’t believe he was such an _idiot_. He was so _stupid_.

Tony stops laughing.

Peter can actually see the color drain from his face.

Oh God, he’s so sorry.

He stutters, “I’m sorry, I—we can just forget—I didn’t mean—”

He clutches the ring box tighter. He’d made the ring. Aunt May had bought him the box to put it in. It was nice.

He tries to stand up. His legs won’t hold his weight.

“Shit,” Mr. Stark says, “Peter, wait.”

Peter can barely hear anything. Are people looking at them? Listening?

He feels sick. His stomach is turning upside down. He wonders how much it’ll cost if he hurls all over the table.

He’s ruined _everything_.

Why did he ever think that Tony—

Why did he think—

He can’t help it. His eyes are burning. He’s starting to cry.

He forces himself to his feet.

“I need—bathroom,” he says, and he stumbles backward a step.

Tony gets up, panic on his face. Peter’s not sure how he recognizes it, except that he hates that look on Tony’s face.

“Peter, please,” Tony says, and he sounds desperate. He grabs Peter’s wrist and tugs him back.

“It’s okay,” Peter says, because it is. Because it has to be.

 _Please don’t break up with me_ , he thinks, a single ringing thought in his head.

Oh, God, please don’t let him have ruined everything.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” Tony explains, quickly. “I wouldn’t have laughed. God, I wouldn’t have laughed. It’s just—fuck.”

Tony sits back down. He’s still holding onto Peter’s wrist, so Peter gets tugged back down along with him. He sits on the edge of his seat. He feels sick and hot everywhere. He thinks it might be the shame that’s the worst part. He can’t help but focus on the warmth of Tony’s hand gripping his.

“You’re perfect, you know?” Tony says. Peter shakes his head. “You are. You’re—stunning, and so smart, and so brave and kind and you’re worth ten of me. I have no idea why you’re still dating me, I’m—I’m living on borrowed time with you until you figure that out, kid. The idea that you—fuck, that you want to _marry_ me? That’s—that’s hard to believe, Peter.”

“But I do,” Peter shakes. “I’m in love with you. That’s not—temporary, or whatever you think it is. I’m in love with you. I’m _in love with you_ , Tony. I’ve been in love with you for years and I’ll be in love with you for the rest of my life. Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?”

Tony rubs his face with his free hand. “You’re so young, and you’re—you’re brilliant. You have the rest of your life still ahead of you.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Peter says back, voice strained.

Tony gives him a soft, small smile. “I’m not saying no, kid, I’m just—surprised.”

Peter’s heart stutters again.

“You’re—wait, does that mean you’re saying yes?”

Tony makes an odd face, like he’s somehow walked himself into a corner and just now realized it.

“I, yeah. If you’re serious, then, yes. But I want you to—”

Peter cuts him off by surging over the table, knocking a spoon to the floor, and smacking their mouths together. Tony’s mouth widens in surprise and Peter’s heart flutters at the feeling of him; hot and wet under his lips. He pulls back, smiling so hard he thinks it’ll probably hurt later.

“Really?” he breathes, and before Tony can answer, he kisses him again, and then again, and again, and again.

Tony sinks a hand into his hair and kisses him back until they have to break apart in order to breathe.

Then, Tony laughs again, and Peter, from relief and joy, laughs too.

“Okay,” Tony says softly. “Wow.”

Peter grins and digs his hand back into his pocket, withdrawing the ring box carefully. It’s only cracked on one side, but Tony’s expression hardly falters at the sight of it. Peter can see him swallow.

He hands Tony the box as he opens the lid.

“I made it. Um, it’s a titanium alloy, like your first suits? Except for the diamond, obviously,” he says before he forces himself to shut up.

Tony lifts it from the box and slips it onto his ring finger. It fits perfectly, since Peter had triple-checked Tony’s ring-size with F.R.I.D.A.Y. The diamond is embedded in the metal so that it’s almost entirely flat and hopefully won’t catch on anything. There’s a matching chain still in the box for when Tony can’t wear it because of his work in the lab.

“It’s great, Peter,” Tony says, finally, after a long moment.

He stands up.

They’re still only halfway done with the dinner, but Tony grabs his hand again and starts pulling him toward the front of the restaurant. When an employee tries to stop him, Tony says, “Just send me the bill,” and pulls Peter outside.

“Tony?” Peter prompts, his heart still in his throat.

“We’re going home because I need to tear that suit off of you,” Tony says, looking at him. He presses his forehead to Peter’s, just breathing, and then kisses him quickly before their car pulls up.

“Right,” Peter says, just a little light-headed.

He gets in the car and Tony glances at him before pulling out, and says, “I’m going to make you a ring. Give me two days.”

Peter laughs and smiles.

“Okay,” he says, because—yeah. Yeah, he wants a Tony Stark exclusive engagement ring.

And in two days, he’ll _have_ one.

Because they’re engaged.

He’s engaged to Tony Stark, to Tony, to the man he’s been in love with since before he can remember.

He doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to stop smiling.


End file.
